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derivative

When I write, one of the most difficult things to deal with is the sense that I'm not really creating anything unique—that my music is somehow derivative, either of my own earlier work or of somebody else's. This is understandable—there are only so many notes in the scale, so many chord qualities and rhythmic subdivisions to play with. Jazz mitigates the problem somewhat by pushing the envelope—by allowing more complex rhythms, chord progressions, and melody-bass relationships—but no matter how far you push, the problem is still there. This can be discouraging, but I'm not so sure it should be.

I like Star Trek. Sometimes a little too much. You can tell, because the next part of this post is an oddly relevant dialog I copied from the TNG third season episode "The Ensigns of Command"; I think it frames the issue rather nicely. (For those of you unfamiliar with the show, Data is a Pinnochio figure: an emotionless android who wants to be human.)

Picard

The good doctor was kind enough to provide me with a recording of your concert. Your performance shows …feeling.

Data

As I have recently reminded others, sir, I have no feeling.

Picard

It's hard to believe. Your playing is quite beautiful.

Data

Strictly speaking, sir, it is not _my_ playing. It is a precise imitation of the techniques of Jascha Heifetz and Trinka Bronkin.

Picard

[shakes head] Is there nothing of Data in what I'm hearing? You see, you chose the violinists. Heifetz and Bronkin have radically different styles, different techniques, and yet you combined them successfully.

Data

I suppose I _have_ learned to be …creative, sir—when necessary.

Picard

Mr. Data, I look forward to your next concert.

I like how this discussion frames the problem. Data is a machine, so he's already lacking in one area typically considered necessary for creative work: emotion. However, he does have drive. Throughout the series, Data's chief drive (maybe even "passion") is to become more human. This leads him to pursue all kinds of artistic endeavors: painting, acting, music…anything he thinks will help him connect more meaningfully with his human creators. Surprisingly, he frequently succeeds, despite lacking the raw, subjective emotional ingredients we typically believe are necessary for such creativity.

In this instance, Data's creative experiment with the violin involves a simple proposition: pick two master violinists, combine their styles, and see what happens. As Picard points out, this, despite requiring no emotion, is in and of itself a creative act. By choosing the violinists, Data has staked a claim in the resulting art; by calculating the best combination of their techniques, he has come up with something only he could have come up with. He didn't have to invent anything per se, only to build out of what had already been invented by others. This kind of creativity, by definition, is derivative…but it is creativity.

Given how common this is, I wonder why we so often think that truly "creative" folks are magically extracting brand-new ideas out of thin air. Who has ever done such a thing? Isn't all creativity derivative to some degree? If someone could come up with something totally novel, something that didn't depend at all on earlier ideas, would any of us understand it? If Data, instead of learning to play the violin after the tradition of the masters, had decided to invent a totally original approach to the instrument, I doubt the crew would have wanted to listen to it; it may have been original (maybe even beautiful to those who understood its mathematical qualities), but it would also have been so totally unfamiliar as to evoke all the emotional response of white noise.

Bottom line is this: we have to get our ideas from somewhere, and pushing that envelope will only get you so far. I think I'm going to stop worrying about it and just enjoy the ride.